


An Endless Road to Rediscover

by Alkarinque



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood Memories, Gen, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkarinque/pseuds/Alkarinque
Summary: “You left me“, said Finarfin, High King of the Noldor and third son of Finwë Ñoldoran, and sounded like a child.
Relationships: Finarfin | Arafinwë & Fingolfin | Nolofinwë
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	An Endless Road to Rediscover

**Author's Note:**

> So, I should actually try to write down some stories for Legendarium Ladies April, but this one has been lying in my drafts for a while, unfinished, and yesterday I managed to write a bittersweet little ending to it, so I thought, why not post it? 
> 
> I have tried to use Sindarin names, even though I headcanon that Finarfin would never use his himself, having never been in ME except for that little excursion called the War of Wrath, but I might have slipped somewhere. 
> 
> also, yes, the title is from Avicii's 'Hey Brother' because the lyrics are more beautiful than the usual electronic music these days.

“You left me“, said Finarfin, High King of the Noldor and third son of Finwë Ñoldoran, and sounded like a child.

Fingolfin said nothing, ever stoic.

“Do not dare treat me like you did Fëanáro“, Finarfin warned, though he knew his brother had treated Fëanor with much less silence.

Fingolfin said nothing and showed nothing.

Had Eärwen been there, she would have huffed and Finarfin would have secretly agreed. Somehow, his older brother was easy to wave off after his reembodiement – something which would have been impossible before. He had been something else then. Had Fëanor not been there, Fingolfin would have taken his place as the outstanding of Finwë's sons.

But Finarfin had ended up with the crown, in the end.

The low light from the lamps and the quiet buzzing from the garden filled their silence and their lack of looking at each other. Eärwen and Anairë were away, maybe with Nerdanel. Their children, those who were out of the Halls, were strewn across the land and they did not know exactly where, as they would have before everything. All that mattered was that Fingolfin was in Tirion, in the same room as Finarfin, since Finarfin turned back and went back to Aman and Fingolfin marched forward, across the Ice.

“Technically“, Fingolfin said slowly, at last, “you left me.“

“I could not go with you. It was madness“, Finarfin quickly answered. It was an accusation he had thrown at himself many times, and therefore he knew how to answer.

“Aye, it might have been“, Fingolfin said and for a moment Finarfin despised him for so readily agreeing and not giving more resistance. “But fairer things as those on the other side of the sea I will never see again.“

Finarfin wondered if those wonders had really been worth it. If there had really been wonders in that smoking pile of earth and ruins he remembered from the War of Wrath or if his brother and his sons had made it up. He wondered if anything could be fairer than the land he had been born in.

“They were cast in the sea“, he supplied.

“Some say things that do not last, becomes the most beautiful“, his brother countered.

Finarfin could never understand how hurt could be beautiful.

“It will only bring grief“, he said, puzzled.

His brother’s eyes grew distant, just as Finrod's sometimes did, or Galadriel's.

“Grief is not necessarily a bad thing. And it does not _only_ bring grief, brother – you are well to remember that.“

Fingolfin had indeed not chided him yet, so Finarfin supposed it had been time.

“It only brought grief to me“, he said.

His brother raised one of his eyebrows in a nearly amused expression.

“Are you bitter?“

Fingolfin had never used that challenging tone with him before – it had always been reserved for Fëanor. Finarfin did not know if to appreciate or be afraid of the change.

“No“, he denied.

Fingolfin smiled because he clearly knew the truth.

“I do not know what else to say to you“, Finarfin then said truthfully because his breast was empty and he did not think he was meant to feel such lack of emotions except anger, for his older, stronger brother. Somehow, this man before him was clearly Fingolfin, Nolofinwë, but Finarfin could not bring himself to care. Somehow, a brother had become so little worth.

Fingolfin smiled ruefully. “It might be hate“, he said as if he knew what went on in the other's head.

“No, it is not“, Finarfin said, “I know hate.“

“Do you?“

“Why would I not?“

“I suppose, because hate could not have built Tirion anew or assembled the court again when over half of it had gone away.“

“Does not mean I do not know it.“

“No, I suppose you are right“, Fingolfin and Finarfin wondered if he had practiced being reasonable and diplomatic in a way that people knew he was doing them a favour by being so. Perhaps he had used it on their nephews. Finarfin doubted it had ever worked, if so.

“I think it is nothing“, Finarfin said. “I think it is _nothing,_ that I feel for you.“

Fingolfin's face shifted and Finarfin wished he knew him well enough now to know what those feelings were – sadness? Hurt? Relief? Anger? But then his brother’s face settled on calmness and Finarfin felt himself bristle. He was the gentler of Finwë's sons, had always been, but maybe he had only been because his two older brothers had taken up all space, barring his chance to let his anger and bitterness and harshness show. Maybe he was worse than them. He certainly felt it now, standing so close to a brother who had been High King; had held a Siege; had mourned his children and seen them bleed before his very eyes; had dared challenge the Enemy at his own gates; had led and died. Finarfin felt worse, because he could not feel grateful and did not wish to praise or give his brother credit where credit was certainly earned – he could only remember the despair he had felt turning back to Aman and later seeing the smoke in the sky from the ships; the shame he felt before Olwë his father-in-law and Eärwen his wife; the utter helplessness at seeing Tirion, beautiful Tirion he had avoided all those years, empty of most of its people; and the crushing weight of responsibility. What was his brother’s suffering to his? He felt spiteful and cruel and for once he thought he had a right to be what his brothers had always claimed as their own.

 _Get out of my sight,_ he wished to say. _Get out, don’t come back, and stop looking at me—_

“You certainly seem to feel something, Ingoldo”, his brother said softly.

Finarfin had never heard his brother be so soft. Perhaps in their childhood? But by the stars – Finarfin barely remembered their childhood, did he? Hazy, bright memories they were now, penetrated by his mother’s singing and the sight of her hair shining in Laurelin’s light. Did he remember a young Nolofinwë? When he tried, he thought he might see a dark-haired boy with a toothy grin and loud praise, but he was so strange to the man before him, that he could not even imagine they were the same person.

“I do not think it is something to bring into light”, Finarfin answered honestly, still with the picture of the grinning boy in one of Tirion’s gardens in his mind.

Fingolfin raised an eyebrow. “I believe we have already uttered a few uncomfortable truths. There is no need to stop now – let us see it through.”

Finarfin’s thoughts were elsewhere. The garden – yes, it had been one of their mother’s and done in a Vanyarin fashion which had later been altered for some unknown reason. Finarfin only had early memories from there, of its heavy and overflowing trees and flowers, with its incense filling the air like perfume and insects creating a constant background noise. He remembered a blanket with stripes, blue stripes on white fabric, and how soft it was – yes, he remembered how a Nolofinwë had nearly thrown himself on that blanket and then rolled around and then sighed as Indis had chided him. _I am tired of reading, my head hurts,_ he complained in a Quenya with the singing sound of the Vanyar but the words strangely Noldorin. _I want to play with Arafinwë,_ he said again and fixed on his brother who could only raise his arms and make some gurgling noise. _Yes, yes! See, you will talk soon! Findis thinks it will take a few months still, but we will show her, will we not, brother mine?_ The boy came closer and gave a secret smile, just between them. _Little brother, imagine when you will talk! Or walk! I will show you! I will lead anywhere you want!_ Indis said something and Nolofinwë listened but soon turned back, a bit of hair slipping from his braids and falling across his face. _We will have to take Findis with us, but she also has to read a lot, so …_ Another grin and glittering eyes, but once again secret, and a whisper: _We can slip away, just you and me. What can a little fun hurt?_

The memory faded and Finarfin, no baby sitting on a blanket in a garden filled with Laurelin’s bright, golden light, was faced with the cold reality again. His brother, Nolofinwë, wait, no –

“Who are you?” he asked, perhaps out of shock or perhaps out of disappointment. The contrast between the boy’s grin and love and the man’s hardened determination and calm was stark and cutting. “Do I even know you?”

The sadness in Fingolfin’s eyes was obvious, even to Finarfin.

“I know you”, he said. “That is the sad thing, brother; I certainly know you, but you may not know me. Not anymore.”

“You may not know me either”, Finarfin protested. “I am not so forgiving or calm or patient, as you may remember me.”

At that, Fingolfin laughed.

“Well, brother mine”, he said in the same mix between soft Vanyarin and clear Noldorin as the boy, “You were never, if ever, forgiving or calm or patient – that is a lie we both know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Finarfin is actually not one of my favourite characters, I'm more of a Nolofinwean fan myself, but I have still written two one shots about him and his relationship to his family, because I find it so fascinating. I stan an angry Finarfin
> 
> Give kudos or even a comment if you liked it ;)


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